


Love Me, Love Me

by OfStrangeShadows



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Gellert Grindelwald, Fluff, Graves is Smitten and Credence is Oblivious, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Speakeasies, cheesy ending is cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfStrangeShadows/pseuds/OfStrangeShadows
Summary: Of all of the things Mr. Graves has done for him, this is the one Credence loves the most.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in a universe without Grindelwald. [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dXjZeCL0C9o) is the song that the jazz band plays. This was going to be angsty initially, but I was talked out of it. If you’d like to see the angsty ending, [let me know](http://ofstrangeshadows.tumblr.com/) and I’ll send it to you! Enjoy! :)

When Mr. Graves had gone to him a week earlier and told him of a surprise, Credence couldn’t have ever imagined _this_. He had thought of gifts - a scarf that would keep its wearer forever warm, a hat that would keep wind away, or even paper flowers born from Mr. Graves’ magical fingertips - certainly, but stopped himself from entertaining ideas of anything grander than gifts. After all, he had thought, those gifts would be spectacular enough. Especially the flowers, though he would never admit as to why.

But this...this is something else entirely. From the doorway he can see flying trays stacked high with fizzling drinks, purples and oranges overflowing and dripping upon patrons’ heads, and the hundreds of people all crammed together along the walls and dance floor, laughing and talking and dancing as if there isn’t any other care in the world. It’s the first time he’s been near a speakeasy, let alone one imbued in magic. His Ma would kill him if she knew he was here, he knows.

Mr. Graves coughs behind him, the polite sort, and motions for them to continue on when Credence turns around. He can see the satisfaction in his eyes, even hidden as it is, and desperately wants to thank him. But how? A simple ‘thank you’ won’t be nearly enough.

“I haven’t treated you to a drink yet,” Mr. Graves says then, resting a warm hand on his shoulder and steering him toward an open table. “Worry yourself over gratitudes _after_ I’ve shown you everything.”

He nods dumbly, sitting and watching as Mr. Graves waves over one of the flying trays. Its contents are filled with deep auburns and glittering turquoises, shimmering like the gems he sometimes sees adorning women’s throats in the summer. Mr. Graves grabs one of the turquoise glasses, setting it before him with a quirk in his lips, and then grabs another for himself. He waits for Mr. Graves to drink first, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobs in the dimmed lightening, before even thinking to grab his glass, swirling it as Mr. Graves had and bringing it to his lips. It’s sweet in the darkest way, like fig and chocolate but citrus too. Strange. And it pops in his mouth, fizzling as it goes down his throat. 

Mr. Graves is staring at him, expectant, as he lowers the glass.

“It’s strange,” he manages after swallowing again, tasting salt. “Deceiving.”

“Most things are,” Mr. Graves agrees, gaze focused wholly on him. He tries to ignore it, tells himself that its intensity is all in his head. “I suppose that’s why we like them.”

Credence can no longer hear the chatter and music surrounding them, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Is Mr. Graves trying to say something…? No, no, it’s all in his head, he chastises himself. Someone like Mr. Graves would never harbor anything but pity for someone like him.

“Regardless, I’m unsurprised to hear you find it strange. No-majs still haven’t discovered the best drinks.”

“I’ve never drank before now.”

“Never?” Mr. Graves smiles, blinding like it always is when he deigns to do it. It warms him to his toes, turns the salt in his throat to honey. “I’m glad to help in a first then.”

He feels completely helpless, disarmed, and attempts a smile in return. It’s unfair of him, he thinks. It’s unfair that Mr. Graves is so handsome, masculine in the way women coo at, poking at one another to _look, look at that man_ , and kind and filled with magic. It’s unfair that he’s helpless to it, watching as Mr. Graves picks up his glass and looks to the stage, but that’s just how his life seems to be. Unfair.

“Is another one of your firsts jazz?” he suddenly asks, taking another drink.

Credence hurries to do the same, choking some as he replies, “Y-Yes.”

“You’re in for a treat then, the best jazz wizards are here tonight straight from Chicago. Should be up in a minute.”

The lights go out as he finishes, the ambient music from before fading away with his words. Mr. Graves whispers, “Or now.”

There’s something mirthful in his tone, and Credence wonders why. Had he planned this? The famous musicians, the timing to hear them? His head spins at the thought. Pity, he tries to remind himself. Mr. Graves would only do it out of pity, nothing else.

A spotlight lights up the center of the stage. It stays empty for a long moment before a woman is suddenly there, red fringe dress sparkling in the yellow light. Her calves are shapely, feet tucked into the fashionable shoes he see sometimes on street corners, though her’s shine white. A long pearl necklace dangles from where it’s wrapped around her throat, popping out the crimson of her lipstick with its every swing.

When she speaks, her voice is everywhere, low and intimate, “Hello, ladies and gentlemen.”

Mr. Graves scoffs beside him, but doesn’t offer a reason why.

“Pleasure to see you all here, though I’m sure it’s for the booze and not little ol’ me,” she laughs at the hoots that gets her before continuing on, “that’s why I’m here too. Forget the music!”

When Mr. Graves scoffs again, Credence tears his gaze from the stage to look at him. He has his chin on his knuckles, elbows resting on the table near his gloves. The way the spotlight lights up the room highlights his features, catching on his brows and caressing his jaw. He wonders what it’d feel like to do the same, hands itching where they rest on his lap. Clean and smooth, or stubbled? Would his hand smell like aftershave afterward? Not that it matters, he reminds himself. Mr. Graves is surely doing this out of pity. Pity, pity, pity.

“Oh, baby,” the singer’s voice suddenly coos all around him, vibrating his core with its intensity. When he snaps his gaze back to the stage, he thinks she’s staring right at him, but that’s not possible. It’s so dark. “Yes, you, sugar. I can hear your hurtin’ heart from here, no need for lights.”

He doesn’t mean to touch his chest, but finds his hands there regardless. Her teeth dazzle him when she smiles, laughing some as she points to him. “I have a song just for you, if you’d listen to its advice.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mr. Graves staring at him. He’s whispering something, but it isn’t reaching his ears. When he nods dumbly, the singer gives another dazzling smile. “Alright, boys. Get up here!”

Six more figures appear on stage, just as sudden as she had. They each have an instrument with them and set up quickly, looking to her when ready.

“You listenin’, sugar? This is just for you.” She looks to the man at her left, sitting behind some great stringed instrument that Credence only wishes he knew the name of. When his fingers touch the first string, she begins.

“Dear, I fear we're facing a problem. You love me no longer, I know, and maybe there is nothing that I can do to make you do.” Once the final word stops, fading prettily into the sweetness of the strings, the other instruments come in. They match her tone nicely, and Credence understands why they’re all so famous.

“Mama tells me I shouldn't bother, that I ought to stick to another man; a man who surely deserves me,” she winks at him when she sings, then seems to turn to Mr. Graves. “But I think you do.”

The brass and drums pick up, crescendoing as she does, “So I cry and I beg and I pray!”

He chances a glance at Mr. Graves, finding him turning to look at _him_ , lips pursed, thick brows knit. It’s the first time he’s ever looked at him in such a manner, and Credence wonders what it could mean.

When he focuses on the singer again, her arms are high in the air, hips rocking back and forth. It makes the fringe of her dress shake alluringly. “Love me, love me, say that you love me! Fool me, fool me, go on and fool me!”

Credence thinks she doesn’t have the sort of desperation to make her words sound realistic, but her voice is so beautiful that he forgives it. After all, it’s a song for _him_ , not her. She wouldn’t know how to portray how he feels.

“Love me, love me, pretend that you love me! Leave me, leave me, say that you need me!”

Mr. Graves coughs beside him, that same polite one from before. He looks, catching the confusion on his features before turning back to the stage. He wonders what Mr. Graves is confused about and why. Maybe why she chose Credence out of everyone, or why the song is about love. Maybe he wants to know who Credence adores so much that it’d draw her attention. Whatever it is, he decides then to never answer him if he asks.

“So I cry and I beg for you to love me, love me, say that you love me! Leave me, leave me, say that you need me! I don't care 'bout anything but you…”

She smiles at him, continuing on in the soft tone her previous note left her on, “Lately I have desperately pondered, spent my nights awake and I wonder what I could have done in another way to make you stay.”

She presses a hand to her flat chest, twirling her pearls between ring-clad fingers. “Reasons will not lead to solutions, I will end up lost in confusion. I don't care if you really care as long as you don't go.”

For some reason, that stays in his head, drowning out her voice as she repeats the lines from before. It bumps around in his brain, as melodious as it was the moment it came from her ruby lips, and echoes in his ears. Reasons will not lead to solutions. There will always be a reason why Mr. Graves acts as he does, always a reason why he should keep his feelings to himself, and what do they do for him? Nothing. They create a crushing weight in his throat, on his tongue, and keep his itching fingers at his sides. Maybe, if he took a chance, he could rid himself of them. But if he did…

The singer’s voice suddenly comes back to him, powerful and passionate, “Love me, love me, pretend that you love me! Just say, say that you love me!” She makes a motion, waving forward, discontent hard in the curve of her mouth. “Oh, go on and fool me! Go on and…”

Her voice crescendos like a wave, lapping at his ears like he is the shore, “I don't care 'bout anything but you…”

The applause is deafening as her and the instruments’ song fades away, but he can’t bring himself to join in. His hands are stuck to his chest still, fingers curled around the edge of his vest. She curtsies on stage, cutely bouncing when she comes back up, and the applause fades away. As it does, she looks at him again and smiles like she hasn’t changed everything for him, “You got it, baby? Good luck.”

Then she goes on to the next song, an upbeat thing that has her kicking and dancing across the stage happily. Mr. Graves puts a hand on his shoulder, startling him. He nearly jumps from his chair when he turns, finding that handsome face so much closer than he had expected.

“Would you like to tell me what that was all about?” he asks, as gentle as the hand on his shoulder. His breath is sweet, like sugared lemons, and his tongue desperately wants to see if he tastes like it too.

“I don’t have a clue,” he says instead of pressing forward like he wants to, imagining the way Mr. Graves’ hands would feel on his jaw. “Did you not like it?”

“Did you?”

“She’s a great singer. Thank you for bringing me here.” He musters a smile, weary in its lines, he knows. It’s not the ‘thank you’ Mr. Graves deserves, but he can’t do more than it currently. Maybe, if he can convince himself later, he can…

“I’d take you anywhere, Credence. Don’t doubt it.”

He blinks stupidly, owlish, and Mr. Graves chuckles before turning away. His heart sings while Mr. Graves focuses on the performance, shouting to his brain, _he’d take me anywhere! Anywhere!_

Credence pays little attention to the performance afterward, listening but staring down at his lap the entire time, lower lip caught between his teeth. He feels like the smile threatening his mouth will tear his face in half if he let’s it free, feels like he should save it for Mr. Graves to see, feels so much that he’s sure he’ll burst any second. When Mr. Graves pats his back as the singer says her goodbyes, he knows some of it escapes, mouth quirking as he looks up. Mr. Graves seems pleased, leading him out of the speakeasy with a satisfied smirk.

“So you enjoyed your first jazz experience?” he asks, shoulder brushing Credence’s as they walk. Credence wants to take his hand, walk like he’s seen so many couples do, but doesn’t.

“Yes, but I fear we’re facing a problem.” If Mr. Graves recognizes the words, he gives no inclination to it.

“And why’s that?”

“I’m without a way to repay you.”

Mr. Graves sighs, but has a smile when he looks to him. “I suppose I did say to worry about gratitudes when I had finished showing you everything.”

He nods, watching as he thinks. He’s so handsome it hurts, but in a good way - the way that makes his heart ache. If things go alright, maybe it’ll soon hurt in the best way.

“And, if you were in my position, how would _you_ want to be repaid?”

He has an idea of what Mr. Graves wants him to respond with, but ignores it entirely with a sharp intake of breath and a deep sigh. Mr. Graves’ smile drops, confused, and disappears as he closes his eyes.

“I’d want you to love me, love me, say that you love me,” the lyrics sound silly, shaky and unconfident in his voice, but he continues, realizing belatedly that he doesn’t remember their order. “Love me, love me, pretend that you love me.”

When he opens his eyes once more, the first thing he notices is the shock written upon the entirety of Mr. Graves’ face. Another first, he thinks. Shocking Mr. Graves. His stomach curls a little at the privilege, but drops as laughter erupts from his slightly agape mouth. It almost sounds too forced, hurt, but that’s just a silly thought; why would Mr. Graves be hurt?

“I almost didn’t catch that,” he admits, quieting fast from such a boisterous laugh. A rock settles heavy in Credence’s chest and it’s suddenly so hard to breathe. “I didn’t know you were a jokester.”

“I-It wasn’t…” he starts with a murmur, but the words die before they reach his tongue. Maybe he shouldn’t…

“What was that?”

Reasons will not lead to solutions, he reminds himself.

Clearing his throat, he musters a weak, “I-It wasn’t a joke.”

Mr. Graves looks as if he had reached over and slapped him. Oh, God, he made a mistake, hadn’t he? Now Mr. Graves must hate him, must want to leave and never come back, and he deserves it if he does. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve kept his stupid feelings to him--

The soft leather of Mr. Graves’ glove against his jaw silences his thoughts. Then, like the feeling of a butterfly’s wings, his mouth presses against Credence’s. It’s over before he can blink, but Mr. Graves is giving him that blinding smile again as he pulls away, so he finds that he doesn’t care too much.

“I could never pretend,” he whispers, thumb brushing over the swell of his bottom lip, moving in once more. 

This time, when their mouths meet, Credence tastes sugared lemon. It’s as wonderful as he had hoped.


End file.
